So Bumpo and I lit a lantern and climbed over the stores. And there, behind the barrel, sure enough, we found an enormous bearded man fast asleep with a well-fed look on his face. We woke him up.
“Washamarrer?” he said sleepily.
It was Ben Butcher, the able seaman.
Polynesia spluttered like an angry fire-cracker.
“This is the last straw,” said she. “The one man in the world we least wanted. Shiver my timbers, what cheek!”
“Would it not be, advisable,” suggested Bumpo, “while the varlet is still sleepy, to strike him on the head with some heavy object and push him through a port-hole into the sea?”
“No. We’d get into trouble,” said Polynesia. “We’re not in Jolliginki now, you know—worse luck!—Besides, there never was a port-hole big enough to push that man through. Bring him upstairs to the Doctor.”
So we led the man to the wheel where he respectfully touched his cap to the Doctor.
“Another stowaway, Sir,” said Bumpo smartly.